


Irresolute

by Thalius



Series: Chapter 13 Re-Write [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, First Meetings, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Missing Scene, S2E5 spoilers, Use of the Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: The Mandalorian was terrible at hiding his thoughts from her, even under all that armour.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Ahsoka Tano, Din Djarin & Baby Yoda
Series: Chapter 13 Re-Write [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034124
Comments: 34
Kudos: 730





	Irresolute

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be connective tissue between the two initial scenes where Ahsoka meets Din. They seemed to have camped for the night before training the baby in the morning, so this is exploring the kinds of conversation they would have likely had that night. Having watched The Clone Wars isn't necessary, but there will be a few light callbacks to it in this fic.

He did not offer his ship as a place to sleep for the night, and Ahsoka did not ask. Instead they stayed in the woods as it grew dark, hunkering down against the side of a hill. The wisdom in using a lamp to light their camp as opposed to starting a fire was obvious; one stray ember would burn through the forest in a matter of hours, destroying what little vegetation was left on this planet. 

He also knew that lamps were not nearly as warm as fires, and the nights here were cold. Din sat as close as he could to it, tucking the kid back in his satchel, which was now huddled close beside him.

“Does he sleep a lot?” Ahsoka asked. She was still carefully perched atop the downed tree on the other side of their makeshift camp, watching him curiously.

“Depends,” he said, draping his cloak over the satchel. The wind wasn’t too harsh, but it was biting when it wanted to be. “He gets tired when he… uses his powers.”

“The Force,” Ahsoka corrected him gently, smiling. “It’s like a muscle in some ways. If you don’t use it frequently, it’s easy to strain.”

He nodded, though he could hardly pretend to know what she was talking about. He’d seen her vault straight up into the air and move faster than any opponent he’d ever faced before, and she didn’t seem the least bit exhausted. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

“And what about you?”

He looked up. “What about me?”

“Are you tired?”

_ I’m always tired,  _ he thought, but did not say. “I’m fine.”

Ahsoka smiled again. She was hard to read. There was a serenity about her that reminded him of the Armourer—a warrior’s grace that he’d never managed to master. It was another point of uncertainty. This woman was deadly, but to him and the kid he couldn’t yet tell. He hoped not, but—it was better to be paranoid than wrong.

“Grogu told me you’ve been on your own for most of your journey together,” she said then. “That you bring him with you wherever you go.”

That surprised him, but it shouldn’t have. He wondered what else the kid had told her. “Yeah, leaving him with other people doesn’t really work.” Din glanced down at the kid, sleeping soundly in the satchel. His breath whistled faintly with each exhale. “But it’s….” He sighed, and looked back up at her. There was an instinct to trust her, to tell her more. He didn’t know where it came from. “It’s dangerous, living with me. Mandalorian life isn’t easy.”

Ahsoka smiled knowingly. “So I’ve noticed. But the life of a Jedi is hardly safe, either. In some ways it’s even more dangerous.”

His visor polarised when he looked at the heat lamp. It blacked out the surrounding camp, giving the impression that the weak light it gave off was all there was to the world. “I don’t know what else to do for him,” he murmured. “He’s lashed out before, at a friend. I don’t want him—”  _ I don’t want him to become like me. _ “I want him to be safe.”

“I know.”

They said nothing for a while. Ahsoka pulled out a wrapped meal from a pouch and ate quietly, only breaking the silence to offer him some. He declined, of course, but unlike most other people, she didn’t seem to find that out of place. Instead she kept to herself, and he watched the lamp flicker.

The kid’s— _ Grogu’s,  _ he reminded himself, though it felt unwieldy—training would begin in the morning. He knew what was demanded of Mandalorian children during training, and wondered if the kid would be put through similar trials. He hoped not.

“It’ll be a simple test,” Ahsoka spoke up, and he flinched, startled out of his thoughts. “One that was once administered to many Force-sensitive children to confirm their abilities. It won’t hurt him.”

His heart beat loudly in his eardrums. “You can hear my—you can hear me?”

Ahsoka wiped at her mouth, obscuring the grin that formed. He saw a flash of sharp canines for a brief moment. “In a way,” she said, echoing her earlier sentiment. “You think very loudly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you give away more than you think you do.” She wrapped what was left of her meal back up and tucked it into her belt. “Don’t freak out. Most people project themselves mentally.”

His fist clenched around his knee. His mind raced—exactly what he didn’t want. Could she hear him now? Had she heard every thought he’d had from the moment they’d met?

“I can sense intention and emotion rather than precise thoughts,” she explained, which did exactly nothing to ease his concerns. “Like watching light move through frosted glass. Your thoughts linger on Grogu, and you mistrust most people.”

“That’s not helping.”

She laughed. “People usually ask. I thought I’d preempt your question. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

He tipped his head. “That’s one word for it.” Tense now, he let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the rock behind him. The rotten loose leaf on the forest floor would make for decent bedding, but he wondered how he’d get to sleep now knowing Ahsoka could read him so easily. 

The pack next to him rustled. His hand went to it on instinct; the kid was shifting in his sleep, but hadn’t woken. Another thought occurred to him. “Can he sense…?”

“He can certainly sense your emotions,” Ahsoka told him. “Especially if they’re strong. Like they are now.”

She was teasing him. He shot her a glare she couldn’t see—but, perhaps, could sense. “They are what they are.”

Ahsoka spread her palms in a diplomatic gesture of concession. “And you’re entitled to them. I’m simply answering your question.”

“And a Jedi’s aren’t?”

She didn’t answer him right away. It was her turn to stare at the lamp, and her expression became contemplative. “They are,” she said finally. “But Jedi are trained from childhood to keep them tightly controlled. Tapping into the Force without that discipline has consequences.”

He thought about Cara again, in the hold of his ship, struggling to breathe. Had that been his fault? Had his sense of competition misled the kid into thinking he was in danger—not of losing a bet, but his life?

“Well, you’re obviously more adept at it than I am,” he said quietly. “You won’t set the kid off.”

“Trust me,” Ahsoka said, making him look up. “You’ve done a good job with him. He’s been through a lot.”

An ache bloomed in his chest, spreading up his throat and across his forehead. She’d said it so matter-of-factly, and he trusted her judgement more than was probably wise. 

Except this time she was wrong.

“No, I haven’t.” He watched his hands ball into fists in his lap. “I gave him away. I was hired to—”

“I know. Grogu showed me.”

He clenched his jaw. Ahsoka shifted where she sat, and when she spoke again, her words were soft.

“He forgives you. He wanted me to tell you that.”

His helmet tipped forward, his breath coming out staggered. All at once he felt something unstitch inside his chest, a pressure he’d become so familiar with he’d forgotten it was there. And now it receded, quickly and completely, leaving him feeling empty.

“It’s alright,” Ahsoka said, and for the first time since they’d met, she sounded awkward and unsure. “I know it’s—easy to blame ourselves for bad circumstances. But it seems like you made the right choice, in the end.”

He couldn’t speak. It took everything to swallow down the thickness in his throat, and the effort made his head pound. Ahsoka was more than just an audience; she made him feel exposed, like he’d been ripped out of his armour and forced to stand, stripped bare, before her. She had seen inside him and passed judgement, and even if it was merciful, it was still a violation.

The urge to retreat, to go back to his ship and fly away and never talk to another Jedi for the rest of his life was overwhelming. He was starting to understand why his people hated them so much—they could break a stranger with their words, and there was no steel strong enough to guard against that. 

“Seems that way,” he finally choked out.

* * *

It was odd to her that she would find this place an easy one to meditate in. Nothing living—aside from the Mandalorian and his little boy, still sleeping by their camp—dwelt in this forest. The Force was scattered here, disordered and messy, but perhaps that was exactly what she needed. She didn’t meditate often, but she did so now, and took pleasure in the way her mind drifted away from herself.

The morning was still young, the sun not yet up, but the sky was alight with the promise of its return. She had slept well, and felt strangely at peace now as she sat at the top of the hill overlooking the woods. The stone beneath her was cool, chilling her legs through the light material of her pants.

Ahsoka took a deep breath of the dry air, centering herself. She knew what was going to be asked of her; the Mandalorian’s turmoil made that perfectly clear. Looking for guidance on the matter gave her nothing in return—the Force, too, was in turmoil here. It made her feel calm in comparison, but it also made her feel lonely.

The easy answer was no. She had good reasons for turning him down, reasons which she had no interest in divulging to the Mandalorian. Perhaps many years in the future she would be in a place where the idea of a Padawan was not a hilarious, horrifying prospect, but she was certainly not in that place now. Grogu needed guidance his father could not give, but Ahsoka wasn’t sure she should be the one to give it. She wasn’t even what the Mandalorian thought she was.

The Force drew towards her, eager at her presence, welcoming the stable anchor she provided in such a fraught place. It was grounding, but if she wasn’t careful, it would bind her to the stone and keep her there. She’d heard of Masters slipping into such deep meditations that their bodies fused with the earth around them, becoming little more than light and thought. An unappealing prospect to Ahsoka, so she stayed near the surface of her mind.

She wondered, as she often did, what Anakin would think of this. A wayward knight coming to her with a little boy in tow who looked like Master Yoda. He would probably find it funny; he would, also, tell her to run in the opposite direction and not look back, and she couldn’t find it in herself to disagree with that advice. 

Her mouth curled into a faint smile. Perhaps she was not entirely alone in the Force up here. The chaos of it felt familiar, in more ways than one.

The crunch of footsteps alerted her to the Mandalorian’s approach, and his thoughts followed closely behind. Ahsoka took a deep breath, sloughing off what serenity she’d managed to find sitting here. It would be inopportune to tell him now, but he really ought to keep his head a little quieter. How could he stand all that constant buzzing?

He came to a stop beside her. Ahsoka didn’t move from the cross-legged position on the rock she’d chosen to use as her meditation mat.

“Good morning,” he said quietly. He sounded deeply uncomfortable, still wary from last night.

Ahsoka opened her eyes and looked at him. It was becoming light out now. “Good morning.”

He didn’t respond. He was staring out at the woods surrounding them, obstinate and cautious. She found it strangely endearing.

“I’d like to apologise for last night,” she said. It was best to get that out of the way first. “I upset you.”

His shoulder rose and fell, and she couldn’t tell if he was shrugging or working the joint. “It’s fine,” he responded, and kicked the duff at his feet. “Kid asked you to tell me. Not your fault.”

She let her smile linger. “People don’t like strangers knowing their business. I get that.”

He let out a sigh. It sounded a lot older than he was. “Well, I came here to find you and tell you my business.”

“Just not so quickly,” she finished for him, smiling. He looked at her, still cautious. “Don’t be ashamed. Wearing your heart on your sleeve isn't such a bad thing.” She reached out and touched the signet on his pauldron. He flinched at the movement, but didn’t pull away. “Grogu told me about that, too.”

“What didn’t he tell you?” he muttered. 

Ahsoka laughed. “He has a lot to say about you. Mostly good things, too.”

“Mostly,” he echoed, and she heard a dryness creep into his voice.

“There was one complaint. He says you snore in your sleep, and it wakes him up sometimes.”

The Mandalorian actually laughed at that. It was quiet, and restrained, but the amusement was genuine. It quickly faded, though, and his doubts came to the fore. She could feel his anguish like a ball of lead in the centre of his body, weighing him down.

She let her hand fall away. “Ask me what you will.”

His helmet tipped forward, staring at the ground. “I want to know if you can train him.”

Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder. The boy was still asleep by their camp, nestled safely in his little carrying bag by the heat lamp. “The possibility exists,” she answered tentatively. “But I must learn more about him first.”

“Like what?”

She looked back at him. “I want to know the extent of his abilities, for one thing. He told me much, but there was also a lot he kept hidden from me. A few lessons may shed some light on his needs.”

Ahsoka also wanted to know how he would fare with someone who was not the Mandalorian. Their bond was blindingly brilliant in the Force, even if the Mandalorian could not see it. Cutting that thread loose was not a simple thing, but she knew he would not understand the gravity of that. Not in the ways it mattered.

“He’s a pretty easy kid to deal with,” he told her, and gestured back down at their camp. “Hardly ever fusses.”

She smiled at his indignant tone. “You don’t need to convince me he’s special.” Ahsoka unfolded her legs and slid to the edge of the rock, letting out a sigh. The sun was still rising, casting everything in a dull grey that she knew was unnatural for Corvus. “Abilities like his are one in a million.”

The Mandalorian was hesitant beside her. He shifted his weight, like he was physically weighing his words before he spoke. “There’s this—” He paused. “There’s this… feeling I have, that tells me to trust you. I don’t know why. I don’t know you at all. I don’t even trust the woman who told me to find you.”

Ahsoka smiled. “You’re right not to trust Bo-Katan.”

“Am I right to trust you?”

She shrugged. “What do you think?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I think so.”

“Perhaps it’s the Force telling you something,” she offered, swinging her legs where they dangled off the rock. “Try to listen.”

His head tilted skeptically. “Sure.”

“I’m not trying to proselytise to you, believe me.” She picked at the dried, dead moss on the stone by her leg. “I haven’t even been practicing myself for decades.”

He took a step back, as if her words had staggered him physically. “What?”

“I was a Jedi, a long time ago. I know their ways. But I’m not one now.”

A long pause followed at the admission. “So you can’t train him?” He sounded equal parts frustrated and relieved.

She raised a brow. “If you took off your armour, would you lose the knowledge of how to fight? Could you not still train someone in the way of the Mandalore?”

His answering silence was perturbed. Eventually he shook his head. “Can you give me a straight answer or not?”

Ahsoka bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Depends on what you’re asking me,” she replied. “You sound very unsure of yourself.”

He sighed again. It came out annoyed this time. “Great.”

“Why don’t we start with a lesson,” she suggested, and stood up from her seat. “Wake up your boy. Then we’ll see where we stand.” When he didn’t move, Ahsoka raised a brow. “What is it?”

He hesitated again. She took him for someone who was not used to speaking to other people, and found the task exhausting. “I need to know, one way or the other,” he said seriously then, and it gave her pause. “This can’t be half-assed.”

Ahsoka took stock of him again, the way she had when they’d first fought. He cut an imposing figure, and he could be a serious threat to her if he wanted to be, but she didn’t think he did. She’d seen the way he held Grogu; she’d felt the love that seemed to practically burst out of him for the boy, even if he was wholly unwilling to acknowledge it. 

She smiled at him. “I will tell you, one way or the other, whether I can train the boy. I promise you that. But first I must see what he can do.”

The tension slacked out of his shoulders. The buzzing maelstrom that was his thoughts finally quieted. “Okay,” he said softly, and indicated their camp with his hand. “Lead the way.”


End file.
